Baker Street
by Hardly Here
Summary: Punk finds Jeff's diary. For the spring slash lovers prompt. Rated for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Written for the super special awesome spring slash lovers prompt. I've been struggling with this one for about a week now. Still kinda apprehensive about it though...**

*******

"Jeff is missing."

John blinked blearily at the flushed ravenette staring down at him.

"How'd you... door..."

"You left it open."

John grunted and struggled into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes.

"Come _on_ John, he's gone. I'm worried about him."

"Phil, calm down. He's probably gone out for a walk or something." John sighed and patted his friend on the leg, "You're so damn protective of him sometimes."

Phil blinked – he hadn't thought of that. Last night Jeff had been inexplicably unresponsive, so when he woke to find his lover gone he had assumed the worst.

"I worry about him."

John punched him lightly on the arm, "He'll be fine. He's a big boy, and he seems to be sorting himself out well lately."

Phil shrugged, "I guess he has..."

"Well then go back to bed! I need my beauty sleep."

Phil grabbed the pillow from under John's head and whacked him in the face with it.

***

_Wherever you are, it's three a.m. and I'm awake._

Phil flopped down on the bed for the millionth time, got up again, and began to pace. If Jeff was out for a walk, he should have been back by now. Unless it was a long walk. Maybe he liked to take long walks. They hadn't been together long enough for him to know how long he liked to take his walks for. Not that he walked that often in the first place.

_Whoa Phil, slow it down._

He clenched his fists, and stared out the window, wishing he would catch a glimpse of the rainbow-haired man returning. Nothing. He began to nervously tidy their room, neatly folding Jeff's things into his bag and looking around for anything he might have missed. As he lifted Jeff's black hoodie, a small notebook fell open onto the bed. He knew Jeff liked to write poetry, and from what he'd read Phil knew he was pretty damn good at it. The thought made him smile, and he began to flick through.

_Jeff and Phil went up the hill to fetch a pail of water,  
Jeff fell down and broke his crown  
And goddamn it if Phil wasn't there to pick him up again.  
I always thought Jack was an incompetent fuck who brought Jill down with him. _

Phil blinked at the angry scrawl which screamed at him from the page.

_Jack's fallen in love with Jill. I wonder how long it'll last?_

The date was from the first time they had gone out 'together,' barely a month ago.

_Well shit, _thought Phil_ And I thought I was scared that time._

He turned the page and was faced with a rough sketch of the two of them at a table. He smiled somewhat at the smiles etched onto their faces in black pen, but then frowned when he saw the caption.

_Jeff cheating on his boyfriend._ A small arrow led to the cup in Jeff's hand.

Honestly, Phil didn't mind other people drinking. He'd told Jeff that, many times. What the hell was going on? He kept reading.

_Jeff has two masters. Can't keep both. Can't stop trying. Hope Phil doesn't come home early tonight._

Phil just stared down at the page. There was an odd roaring in his ears, and everything seemed to have frozen, including himself. He had no idea the other man felt that way. They had gone through a month practically living in each other's pockets, and there had never been a sign, why hadn't he seen a sign...

His lip began to quiver and a silent tear splattered onto the page, making the ink run. His hands were shaking, but he had to read on. He had to find out...

***

**Damn I keep writing short chapters. I'm so sorry! I'll write the next one uber-fast, I promise!!!**


	2. Chapter 2

_'Why are you drinking?' the little prince asked.  
'In order to forget,' replied the drunkard.  
'To forget what?' enquired the little prince, who was already feeling sorry for him.  
'To forget that I am ashamed,' the drunkard confessed, hanging his head.  
'Ashamed of what?' asked the little prince who wanted to help him.  
'Ashamed of drinking!' concluded the drunkard, withdrawing into total silence._

_***_

The page was taped into the journal, probably torn out from a library book. Phil read it over several times, heart hammering away in his chest. His palms were sweaty, and all his senses were on high alert, a sensation he only ever went through when he panicked. His eyes flickered towards the door constantly; he kept thinking, kept hoping that Jeff would walk through it any second now. Any minute...

Recollections began to worm their way into his head. Instances he had simply written off to Jeff's erratic and spontaneous nature. All those times he'd gone 'out' without another word, the times he'd come back at some ungodly hour of the morning, only to find that his lover had stayed up all night just to make sure he came back alright.

Jeff was always so frightened and upset the next day that Phil always forgot that he had ever been annoyed. And it always happened so fast it was like it hadn't happened at all.

_Phil loves Jeff.  
Phil loves Jeff.  
Phil loves Jeff._

There was a whole page of this. It was as if he needed to convince himself of the fact. In fact, the words screamed out from the page in an untidy scrawl. They grew wilder and wilder as they reached the bottom of the page, until they were mere scribbles – or inarticulate cries.

"But of course I love you, you stupid shit." Thought Phil furiously.

_I hate the city. It's so cold and soulless... I mean, as if it took me this long to figure it out, but sometimes it seems like the only place I'm really alive is when I'm with Phil.  
Was I wrong to choose this life? Everyone loves the crowds, everyone feeds of that brilliant energy but I'm finding the end of each show more disgusting than the last. When everything's packed away, I feel like I've just come off a massive high...And Phil's back._

There was the click of the keycard and the beep of the door, and Phil managed to stuff the book back into Jeff's bag before the door opened and in walked his rather weary-looking lover.

Mumble mumble.

"Jeff, you know I can't understand you when you talk like that." He hated that voice. It was his soft, reasonable 'Jeff's-drunk-and-now-I'mma-take-care-of-everything' voice. Inside, Phil wanted to scream at him. Wanted to tell him to go fuck himself if he wanted to keep destroying himself like this, go right ahead and drink his life away. God, he had one fucked up, strange boyfriend.

Jeff shrugged, shuffled towards him and sat down heavily on the bed.

_Yeah, we can sit here together and stare at the wall and pretend like there's nothing wrong between us._

But then Jeff looked directly at him, and he remembered why he was there. The alcohol clouded eyes cleared for a second and gazed imploringly at him. The poor thing was lost... So Phil took his hand and gently he pulled the orange-haired man onto the bed next to him, stroking his hair until he fell asleep. None of that for himself tonight, though.

***

**I'm trying to write this as sensitively as possible, and I've read a few fics where it's been done amazingly... but I can't seem to get it. So, to whoever this was for, I'm really really sorry but I'm really struggling with this one. **


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually, Phil did fall asleep. Wall, more passed out from sheer exhaustion but he woke a few hours later. Someone was shaking him tentatively by the shoulder.

"Phil?"

"Mmmm?" He stirred somewhat, but was still reluctant to move.

"Phil." The voice was more urgent now, and Phil forced his eyes open, staring straight into the troubled green eyes of his lover.

"Jeff?"

I want you to teach me how to be straightedge."

Phil wriggled into an upright position.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I want to be like you! I want to learn how you do it!" He said brightly.

No.

No, this was wrong. Jeff was sitting cross-legged on the bed facing him with a smile that was far too wide for someone who had just crashed the night before. Phil scanned the other man, taking in the dark smudges under his eyes, and as he looked deeper he saw desperation. And fear.

"Jeff, you're not going to get over this by suddenly becoming straightedge."

Phil took a deep breath when, as expected, Jeff's smile immediately diminished.

"What do you mean? You do it. You're straightedge."

"Yes, but-"

"Why can't I be then? Is it because you don't think I'm strong enough? Am I not good enough for you?"

"Jeff, you know that's not-"

"Well, fuck you then!" Jeff sprang off the bed and slammed the door behind him, leaving Phil sill half-dazed from lack of sleep, and beginning to be sick of the whole thing.

There was a new entry in the diary; it didn't take Phil too long to find since Jeff seemed to keep it rolled up in the same hoodie all the time.

_You know when you've got friends who smoke and they tell you they can quit at any time... you just smile to yourself and feel sorry for the deluded bastards. Well, last night I found out I was one of them. I used to think it was so easy, and I'd tell anyone who'd listen...  
One more year, I kept saying. One more year, then I'd be happy. But now I've got Phil, and he makes everything look so easy. Like I used to think it was. I hate him._

At the bottom of the page there was a footnote, added later as an afterthought.

_He still loves me though. Huh._

Phil slammed the diary shut and stuffed it in Jeff's bag. Fuck him. Fuck that little ungrateful, selfish son of a bitch.

He needed to go out, and he decided that for tonight he was not going to come back to pick up the pieces. See how the stupid fuck handled himself then.

After wandering the streets well into the wee hours of the morning, Phil found himself needing sleep. Some kind of rest, at least – he could barely put one foot in front of the other as it was.

The night was chilly, and his jacket was really not much of a match for the biting wind. It seemed though, that fate had passed through all the hotels in the area and filled their rooms for the night. He ended up collapsing on a park bench in the outer city, too tired to find his way back.

Consequently, when the garbage collectors pushed him off unceremoniously in the morning, his back ached. By the time he made it back to the hotel, he prayed – for Jeff's sake – that his lover was not at the hotel because it would not be pretty.

Their room was empty, thankfully. Phil all but ran to Jeff's bags, grabbing the diary. He had to see what had happened. Last night's entry was a short one.

_Phil isn't home tonight. About time the shithead got out._


	4. Chapter 4

As if on cue, the keycard beeped in the door, and in walked Jeff. He had to think fast, because the first thing he was faced with was the hardcover diary being lobbed at his head.

"You fucking _asshole!_"

"You read my diary-" squeaked Jeff

"Get out!" Phil leapt off the bed and slammed Jeff against the wall, earning another squeak of fear from the other man.

"You know, if you want to fuck up your life, GO AHEAD. I'm sick of you!"

Phil's right hand balled into a fist, ready to strike, but Jeff's eyes widened, and Phil found himself staring at those beautiful emerald orbs he loved so much. It made a chink in his rage, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to be angry. Jeff deserved his anger...

He sighed and let his arm drop to his side, stepping aside to let Jeff pass.

"Get out."

"Phil-"

"Get out before I change my mind and rip your face off." Said Phil tiredly, "I'm exhausted, I'm fucking _sore_ from sleeping on a _park bench_ last night and now that-" he gestured to where the diary had fallen.

"Don't push me. Just get out."

Then all was quiet. Phil's lower lip trembled slightly at the sound of the door closing, but he took a deep breath and began to gather his things. With a sharp exhale, he locked away all the emotion that bubbled away in the pit of his stomach, things he didn't have the strength to deal with right now.

After all, it was ugly for a man to cry.


End file.
